I'll eat up all your crackers and your licorice

100 Words about Baseball

Why I Love Baseball

There is no clock
90 feet between bases is genius
There are secret signs
Hanging curveballs are sexy
Numbers are magic: 755, 56, 7, 61, 1.12
Tinker to Evers to Chance
Ivy at Wrigley
The Green Monster
The suicide squeeze
Cracker Jack
Walt Whitman liked it
Jackie Robinson and Pee-Wee Reese
It just feels American
The seventh-inning stretch
Superstition
Guys in tight pants
Bull Durham
Centerfield
There’s no crying in baseball
Cooperstown
A great play at the plate
Chatter
Pepper
High socks
Tradition
Spring training
Keeping score
The rubber game
The infield fly rule
162 chances

Become a Fan

there's no category that works for this

At least, that's what I always thought divorce would be--the end of the story. For so long, I was unhappy in my marriage, yet divorce seemed impossible for...well, lots of reasons. I was very good at coming up with reasons to stay. More than any reason, I was simply afraid of the whole idea. I'd already sacrificed so much of myself, was there enough left to start over? I'd already admitted to myself that my marriage was a failure--could I admit it to my child? To the world?

So I just stayed, and somehow I managed to compartmentalize my life enough that I could have a successful work world and a happy friend world and a fulfilling parent world. For a while, I convinced myself that was enough, and maybe all I deserved. But as I poured myself into those other areas, a funny thing happened. I felt valued and loved in those areas. Those became my safe spots where I could bring my full self, where I could feel supported and energized by those around me, and give them my love, support, and energy in return. I'd like to say the marriage compartment of my life got better, too, but it didn't. If anything, Joe and I were more like roommates than husband and wife, and more often than not, we just didn't like being around each other. Eventually, the running conversation in my head shifted from "Why doesn't he love me?" to "I just have to survive" to "I have to find my way out of this."

Then a week at the beach changed everything. Months ago, Fred (my boss) planned a writing retreat for the first week of January, to be held in the Outer Banks. The plan was for several of us to spend the week together in a house on the ocean to begin work on two new books. I gave Fred a hard time about this. "If we're going to the beach, shouldn't we go to one where it's warm?" I asked. I groused. I resisted. But once I arrived, I was there. It was serene and beautiful and I was surrounded by the heart of my work family, by people who love me and care for me. We did amazing work together (these books are going to rock, mark my words). Katrin, my executive partner (aka assistant) is an amazing cook, so every night we all gathered around the table and she fed us and we laughed and laughed. I missed Alex as I always, but I was also thoroughly, utterly comfortable and calm.

Then one night, amid the laughter and stories and work, it hit me. My entire life could be as happy as some parts of it already were. I was the only thing getting in the way of that. Not Joe. Not Alex. Not money. Not this idea that I had to stick with something I knew was never going to work. I had everything else working so well and the love and support of so many people that it suddenly seemed possible to right this other huge part of my life.

Getting to that moment wasn't easy, but once I recognized the arrival of that moment, it was as if a switch had been flipped. Much to my surprise, it didn't feel like the end of the story at all. It felt like a new beginning, and the switch that was flipped was my hope coming back on for the first time in longer than I care to admit.That's not to say that tears weren't shed or that it was easy--it wasn't. But it was right.

When the time came to end it, it went about as smoothly as I could have hoped. It's been over for a long time, we both knew that. It will be awkward, but amicable. There's no fault or blame, just too much time spent trying (and then not trying) to fix something that couldn't be fixed. He'll always be Alex's father, so his well-being will always matter to me. I wish him well. But everything else will fall away, and I'm finally okay with that. Alex was heartbroken when we told him and still has moments of sadness (and will have many more, I'm sure), but he gets it. That's why I realize now that the "staying together for the kids" is such a farce. The kids know. When I said I was queasy the next day, probably from what was going on, Alex told me, "Don't worry, it's going to be a better life." He was already my bright light of joy, but I had no idea what a strong little guy he really is or how much he was going to help me through this in his own way.

Now it comes down to paperwork and agreements and retainers. He put down a deposit on an apartment today and can start moving February 1. We're sorting out the finances and working on a shared custody arrangement and trying to keep everyday life as normal as possible for Alex.

Epiphanies can happen anywhere - sometimes they come to you after a period of meditation. Sometimes they come to you after a life-changing experience. And sometimes they come to you in the car on the way to Lowe's. It hit me - I could go spend more money on yet another wrench that probably wasn't going to get the stuck slip nut to budge, either. Or I could admit defeat.

Admit defeat - that's heavy stuff. When I decide I can do something, I like to get it done. That's especially true when I go public with it as I did with the plumbing repair. And honestly, with the right tools, maybe I could have. My brother-in-law Gary, who is pretty handing with a pipe wrench thanks to everything he learned from his plumber dad, said that most of the time people can't do household repairs not because of skill or competence, but because they lack the proper tools. I mulled this over and considered two new challenges. I had to remove dishwasher drainage hose from its connection to the tailpiece and the metal fitting (whatever it's called) the hose connects to broke off the pipe and I can't dislodge it from the hose. And the pipe that leads through the floor into the basement looks to also be in bad shape, and I in no way think I have the skills to replace THAT. (Nor do I have the tools. I don't know what tools it would take, but I'm betting I don't have them.)

With these challenges in mind, I did what any sane person would do--I cursed to myself. Here I was on the road at 8:30 when I still had work to do and hadn't even packed the first item for a trip less than 24 hours later. Was I really so gung-ho about plumbing that I was making my third trip in as many days to Lowe's? (Maybe i just wanted to maintain my status as the Mayor of Lowe's.) No, this was ego. I didn't want to admit defeat. I know how silly that sounds, and now that I've resigned myself to calling a plumber, I realize that's for the best. But that doesn't mean there isn't some part of me totally chagrined and mentally poring over the challenge to see if I can find the solution.

And with that, I'm covering up my plumber's crack and moving on to the next project. If I can stay awake long enough to finish it...

On the bright side, I got a great haircut today:

I took this photo in my self-portrait studio (i.e., the bathroom with a black tablecloth clothes-pinned to the shower curtain), It came out okay, although I couldn't get the lighting right at all. Now if I could only get it to upload properly to the TED website to finish my badge for this year's conference!

I got a late start on the plumbing tonight thanks to a great Fiesta Bowl. I didn't expect to be so caught up in it, but it was pretty great football from start to finish. At one point near the end, Joe asked who I was rooting for (a fair question, believe me) and I responded "I don't care who wins as long as there's more good football!" I was rooting TCU to pull out a last-minute touchdown not so they'd win, but so the game would go into overtime. The game was that good!

Or maybe I was just trying to avoid the inevitable underneath the sink.

Finally, I gathered all my new pipes and elbow pieces and whatnot and began an epic struggle to remove the duct tape wrapped around one pipe. Not to say this was old duct tape, but I think the receipt for it was chiseled on stone tablets. I put a nice gash in the pipe in the process--no worries, I'm replacing it--before I finally got down to the slip nut.

Here is where the friendly guy at Lowe's* let me down. When I told him I didn't have any of the tools I needed to do this job, he assured me that I would not need a wrench to attach the PVC component. "You need to hand-tighten those." But what about the galvanized piping I'm removing? His advice was that it's so old, I could probably tap it loose with a hammer or remove it by hand.

Guess what? I can't get the damned thing loose. So my next step is going to be to go at it with the hack saw. I had to take a breather before I did that, so I figured I'd post an update. I'm sure there's someone out there who wouldn't sleep comfortably tonight not knowing the status of my crappy pipe situation.

And as if I weren't in over my head enough, I'm also going to reposition the trap. It's currently separated from the drainpipe by about 10 inches of horizontal pipe, which is why the drain has never been terribly effective.

I figure, what's the worst that could happen? I spent about $30 bucks on supplies, I've learned a good bit already, and I was already planning on calling in a plumber. If I can't make it work, I'll graciously admit defeat and call the plumber. But there's no harm in trying, first. At least, there's been no harm so far, but I haven't used the hack saw yet.

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Update: I used the saw and successfully removed the pipe and the trap came loose at the same time with no extra effort. Bonus!

But the bad news is that the pipe still attached to the sink drain has to come off. Why? Something about the little hole I put in it with my thumb tells me it needs to be replaced, too. (Who knew I had thumbs of steel?) But the slip nut attaching that one REALLY isn't coming off, and I can't just hack this one off. I took a 2am trip to Wal-Mart in search of the appropriate tool, and though online guides tell me to use groove-joint pliers and I dutifully bought two different sizes, neither worked. So I will be going back to Lowe's tonight to get something...anything...that will get this pipe loose. I'm also going to have to replace the clamp connecting the dishwasher drainage hose. I have a little bit of fear that when I remove this final pipe I'll end up having to replace the sink drain, and from there I envision a domino effect that in two weeks' time will see me in the attic replacing the insulation.

At the risk of making yet another ill-advised promise, I promise I will call a plumber before it gets that far.

When we bought our house in 2001, like all good buyers, we had an inspection done. No big problems were uncovered, but I do remember the inspector, his head under the kitchen sink, saying "You'll eventually have to do something about this." Apparently, by "something" he did not mean "put all your cleaning supplies and trash bags in front of the pipe and don't think about it for 8 years. How do I know that? Something about the water pouring down the basement wall anytime I ran water in the sink was a little clue that he might have meant "fix it."

Upon closer inspection, the water was not only running down the pipe coming through the flooring and into the basement, but dripping from the underside of the sub-flooring as well. So I dragged everything out of the cabinet (why do I have 3 different types of vinyl floor cleaner?) and thanks to low-rise skinny jeans, I'm sure I looked every bit the plumber as I tried to figure out where the leak was. Aside from a massive wad of tape wrapped around the kind-of-straight horizontal pipe--as you can see, I'm going to have to work on my lingo, but a quick Google tells me it's called a "tailpiece"--anyhow, there was also a small block of wood wedged under the trap. (See, I do know something about plumbing.) When I removed the block, a little water dribbled out and a quick inspection revealed an inch-long slit in the underside of the pipe. I'd call it a "gash" except that "gash" implies something punctured it, and the truth is that I think it just plain rotted through.

Great. Just great.

Off I went to Lowe's in hope of finding some magic, temporary fix until I could get a plumber in to fix it. Magic is just what I found.

The kind man at Lowe's shrugged as he handed it to me, saying, "It really isn't hard to replace the trap," but I assured him I just wanted to survive until the plumber showed up. Back home I went (after completing a half-dozen other errands) and started carefully wrapping the trap in this strange, stretchy rubber tape. It was going swimmingly until I put my thumb right through the pipe. I don't know what this pipe is made of, but my guess is aluminum foil wrapped around graham cracker crumbs.

Ever the optimist, I kept wrapping, covering the thumb-sized hole, careful not to make any new holes or gashes. I put on an extra layer for good measure and confidently turned on the tap.

Still leaking. Damn. But then something happened. Dejected, slumped on the kitchen floor and staring at my tin-foil pipes, I found it. My mojo. My "screw paying someone to do something I can do myself." Never mind the fact that I've never done it before and the extent of my plumbing knowledge involved Drano and apparently showing the crack of my ass. But, the guy at Lowe's said it wasn't hard and in my family I am known as "Aunt Handy" (that story will have to wait for another day).